


i'm not wearing my usual lipstick, i thought maybe we would kiss tonight

by Kealpos



Series: Author's Favorites [5]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Canon - Manga, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender Identity, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Haruhi, Nonbinary Suoh Tamaki, Other, Post-Canon, Self-Discovery, is this ooc? maybe. what are you‚ a cop? fuck off, trans author, trans fic being written by trans author. does it get better than this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kealpos/pseuds/Kealpos
Summary: Okay, it took a little while for him to admit it to himself, but Tamaki has a dirty little secret: He actually thinks it's really hot when Haruhi is masculine.
Relationships: Fujioka Haruhi/Suoh Tamaki
Series: Author's Favorites [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033281
Comments: 15
Kudos: 90





	i'm not wearing my usual lipstick, i thought maybe we would kiss tonight

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from Mitskis Washing Machine Heart
> 
> as mentioned in the tags, this is manga canon bc tbh i prefer it to anime canon, so theres a lot of references to stuff that happened in the manga. if youve only watched the anime: um. sorry 😬 after the end of his second yr (haruhis first), tamaki was moved to the main mansion w his grandmother and basically kept prisoner until he managed to win her over and the host club broke him out to meet his (NOT a maid) mother with the help of literally Every Single Character. he and haruhi got together, and it ended w the host club doing a yr-long exchange program in boston. 
> 
> preface: i am nonbinary! and ive written haruhi and tamaki both as nb in this! like, purposefully! it may not be obvious for the first section, especially considering how ive written them using she and he pronouns respectively throughout this, but they are word of god nonbinary in this and there is a lot of discussion about gender. hope it translates! lol _trans_ lates.

It's not that Tamaki is stupid, alright? Well, okay, maybe a little. But that's not the end-all-be-all. It's just… He's a little bit dense to his own feelings. I mean, a childhood filled with him pushing his own emotions away for the benefit of his family, blood or otherwise? There are bound to be a few consequences.

Of course, they're not all so terribly dramatic that people need to start hopping through windows again (Haruhi and Mori still have a few scars from that incident - he feels really bad about it) for his benefit. Whatever “trauma” he faced in the past, he's over or working through. He has his family, both of them! All of them! His dream is achieved: everyone is under a kotatsu together!

Yet, Tamaki can still discover things he never even realized he was pushing away from himself. This is that story. A story about how he annoyed all his friends (though doesn't he always?) and came out the other side with a new way to look upon the world. A new way to look upon his psyche and the relationships he has with those he cares about. A new way to be himself!

Or, in a more succinct description, this is how Tamaki figured out that he actually finds Haruhi’s masculine side kind of, sort of, maybe a little bit, _breathtakingly hot._

*

It started as it always did: incidentally and with the members of the Ouran High School Host Club in close proximity. 

Haruhi would complain that the club members were like mold; quick-spreading, infectious, and disgusting, while Tamaki would criticize her for being too harsh, at which point he would rediscover that while she had fallen for his charms, Haruhi had not fallen for his _charms._ Still, it was, on some level, true. The club spread quickly to America so that they could keep in close contact with one another, a small smile and the threat, _you’re not getting away from me yet._

Two weeks in, Haruhi set some ground rules.

It was sorely needed, considering that she introduced the rules at breakfast, where her friends had come in (uninvited), sat at her table (uninvited), and ate her food (uninvited). “I’ve already set rules with Tamaki,” she began, giving a sharp glare to the twins who were eating her nice oatmeal (uninvited), “but I think it would be good if I enforced them for you all as well.”

Tamaki smiled as he watched her, a hundred and seventy centimeters of pure heartbreaking and cruelty. Her hair fell in front of her face as she lectured the twins flatly, reiterating that no, they may not come in without knocking even to lay a trap for Tamaki. She was gearing up to talk about the many reasons wrong with that when the hair he was admiring so came too close, Icarus flying towards the sun, that she accidentally caught it in her mouth.

He watched, with some degree of wonder, as she spat it out of her mouth. Entirely inelegant, some little winged part of his heart sighed. “My hair’s getting long again,” she observed, pushing the strand of a bang behind her ears. “I’ll have to schedule a hair appointment. I…” Her eyes darted to Tamaki, who brightened slightly at her small shift of attention. “Or, I suppose I don’t actually have to continue cutting it anymore,” Haruhi amended. 

The table was quiet as if she had just uttered something life-changing. In some ways, it sort of was. It symbolized that, yes, really, she wasn’t in a position where she had to go about pretending to be a boy anymore. Welcome to Change, everyone.

“What’s wrong?” Haruhi asked after the silence stretched on for some time, Kaoru’s spoon of oatmeal hovering unmoving in front of his gaping mouth. “You guys always talked about how nice I’d look if I grew my hair out, and then when I’m in a position to actually do it, you’re all aghast?”

“You’d certainly look different,” Kyoya agreed, the first to break the stillness. He looked at her carefully, as if doing calculations on how much money they’d save without her regular hair appointments. “If that’s what you feel like doing, go right ahead.”

With the approval of their great shadow leader, the others followed suit. “Go ahead,” Hikaru agreed, while Kaoru wondered aloud if she’d let him do her hair now (a firm answer of “No way!” shut that down fast). Hani said something cheerful that nobody could quite make out around his parfait (which Haruhi had no idea where he got the ingredients for) but Mori grunted at anyways. The last to respond was Tamaki.

They all looked towards him after his silence stretched past the normal amount of time for Tamaki to be quiet. Finally, he managed, “I’m excited to see what you look like with your natural hair, Haruhi. You’ll look so cute!” and the moment passed. Haruhi sighed, the twins badgered her, Hani and Mori stayed out of the argument, and Kyoya observed silently.

Tamaki was telling the truth, he did think Haruhi with her naturally long hair would be absolutely and utterly adorable, but there was something about the thought of Haruhi with actual long hair that made something in his chest stutter, stop, and go, _wait, what?_ Probably just excitement again.

“Really, though,” she went later that morning when she was packing up to leave for class. The other boys were either heading to class as well or in their own apartments, the only ones left in her place being Haruhi herself and Tamaki, and Tamaki was focused on making sure Antoinette’s doggy daycare bag was all ready. You only forgot to do that once. Red lightly dusted her face as she hiked her backpack onto her shoulders, using the readjustment to distract herself from looking at Tamaki. “Do you think I shouldn’t grow my hair out? Your reaction this morning…” She trailed off.

Tamaki raised an eyebrow at her before standing. “You’re asking for my opinion on your looks? Are you feeling well?” He teased. “Let me feel your temperature,” he continued, stretching a hand out to her forehead, which she gently slapped away.

“Shut up, you,” she protested. “I dunno. It’s just this feeling that I’m supposed to start acting differently now that we’re- Now that we’re together, you know? Like I’m supposed to live up to your very clear fantasies.”

“You paid attention to my fantasies?” He asked, touched for some stupid reason. Haruhi cut him with a sharp look that made it clear that yes, she knew _very well_ about all his fantasies. “I mean, don’t mind my fantasies,” Tamaki scrambled to correct himself. “I think you’d look just fine with long hair, but I don’t- You look wonderful with short hair as well. It’s up to you!”

Haruhi’s gaze softened, and her hand reached up to brush through her hair self-consciously. “Okay. If you don’t care, I might continue cutting it. It’s much less upkeep, you know?”

Some small seed of white-hot affection sprouted in his stomach, and he grinned brightly at her. “Alright. That’s perfectly fine as well. Ah, but Haruhi, that means you have to let me schedule the hair appointment for you!”

“Tamaki, please, I can schedule my own appointments.”

*

“It's me and Haruhi’s five-month-anniversary!” Tamaki announced one day, several months into living in Boston. Haruhi’s class was running late that day, so Tamaki had pulled the rest of the guys into his apartment to discuss wacky hijinks, just like in the old days.

“I see, so that's why we're stuck eating your leftovers rather than something you made - you're planning to go out,” Hikaru caught, eating Tamaki's leftover dinner from when they went to a Mexican place last night.

“What? No! Stop eating my food!” Tamaki squawked as he wrestled his to-go box away from him. Antoinette perked her head up from where she was snoozing when she heard the mention of food, but he waved her away until she settled back down. Hikaru looked unrepentant. “So cruel. No, I called you here to help me think of what to do, not to eat my food.”

It was just like old times. There was a soft, nostalgic air settled over the group, even as Tamaki looked around and surveyed all the changes they had undergone. They had all grown a little bit, even Hani. Kyoya was more relaxed those days, and Mori emoted more. Hikaru’s dye-job was losing some of its colorings as the roots came in, while Kaoru had begun to grow his hair out to express his side of individuality. 

He and Haruhi never did schedule that hair appointment. For the longest time, Tamaki had figured it wasn't happening with some strange, sickly feeling of disappointment. That was, until he came home to find Haruhi boasting a pair of clippers that he had to wrangle away from her in order to give her a nice cut. After that, she had maintained a proper haircut, and every couple of weeks or so they sat down in the bathroom so he could buzz the peach fuzz off of her neck.

One thing Tamaki couldn't figure out was why he was so excited to have Haruhi cut her hair. She did have a really nice neck, maybe that was it.

He was so focused on the question of his feelings towards her hair, he didn't notice that his friends were talking to him until Kaoru was snapping his fingers in front of Tamaki's face, followed with, “Hey, boss, are you even listening?”

“Ah…” He startled, coming back into focus. They all shared a hopeless expression, _our boss is so silly, such a mess._ “I'm sorry, I don't think I caught any of that.”

“Of course you didn't.” Kyoya gave him a fondly exasperated smile. “Pay attention this time, Tamaki. Now, Haruhi may not care for a fancy dinner, but also, it may not be the best of ideas to leave the cooking up to you again. Remember the last time you attempted to cook dinner?”

“That was a fluke! I didn’t know spaghetti could actually burn!” Tamaki went, kneejerk, knowing automatically what incident he was talking about. While he felt mildly horrified, his friends just laughed and went over the plans once again.

That's why, later that evening when the clock was creeping close to seven-twenty and the lock of Haruhi’s apartment clicked open, Tamaki was _prepared._ Mori had agreed to take Antoinette for the night so he wouldn’t worry about her. He had _strategies_ and a _memorized itinerary._

..Thaaat fell right out the window when he saw Haruhi stumbling into the front hallway, looking dead to the world. Tamaki watched Haruhi’s hand caress the wall as she shoved her shoes off and tossed her keys into their place onto the counter. As he peeked over the couch he could see each and every plan fly away. Goodbye, trip to Salem. Goodbye, museums. Goodbye, that all-you-can-eat buffet near the mall.

“You want to order out for dinner?” Tamaki asked, and Haruhi jolted.

“Uh. Tamaki. I wasn't expecting you to be here.” She rubbed at her eyes, padding over to the couch. “Have you not eaten yet? I, I suppose I'll have to make dinner for the both of us again tonight, huh?” Haruhi sighed, clasping his shoulder with a firm squeeze in greeting.

“You forgot, didn't you?” He asked before she could head off. She gave him a very confused look, and he realized his voice came out more sad than sly, which was not what he was going for at all. Tamaki took a moment to reconfigure his tone before explaining, “It's our five-month-anniversary.”

“Oh?” Haruhi processed the statement for a moment before her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t even know you liked celebrating that kind of thing. I didn’t even know we had reached an anniversary.” She planted her face into the soft plush of the couch while Tamaki felt the tentacles of panic grab for him.

“No! I’m sorry for not telling you about it earlier, Haruhi!” Tamaki exclaimed, feeling suddenly shameful because he was _stupid._ Of course, Haruhi didn’t keep track of unimportant things like a stupid five-month-anniversary. He had been with Haruhi for five months, and had been her friend for even longer, he could've figured it out himself.

He watched as her body began to tremble. Was she crying? Was she angry? He geared up to apologize again when he realized that a muffled sound was coming from where her face was pressed against the couch: she was _laughing._ “Haruhi?”

Finally, she lifted her face up to shake her head at him, looking bemused and a little embarrassed. “You know,” she went, propping her elbows upon the top of the cushion, “if you want to celebrate these things, just _tell me_ next time.”

“I- Right,” Tamaki replied lamely. Tears, which had begun to well up behind his eyes when he thought he ruined things, threatened to spill. “Sorry. Right.”

Hesitantly, she reached a hand out and cupped his cheek, wiping away burgeoning tears. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s nothing to cry about. I just had a long day, so I was annoyed with what I thought was another stupid thing I forgot about. You know I’m not good with the doting, romantic stuff, but I love you, so... If you want to celebrate our anniversary every month, that’s fine. You just have to tell me that, alright, Tamaki?”

He sniffed once, touching his hand to the one that held his face. “You’d really let me celebrate every month?”

“Okay, not every month,” Haruhi corrected, her mouth quirking up into a small smile. “Listen, why don’t you order some food from that American place nearby with the cheese fries, I’ll go change into something more comfortable, and then we can celebrate tonight casually. Though, I’m sure you had a lot of plans, right?”

She always had him pegged. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded, deciding it was better to not try and lie to her. “That’s what I thought. Maybe you can take me out this weekend, alright?”

“Okay,” he croaked. Then, before she could pull away, he added, “I love you.”

Haruhi’s gaze, already warm and fond, softened even further. “I love you too.” Her hand snaked away from his face, and Tamaki turned to stand up. “Even if,” she added mischievously as she went for her bedroom, “you are the girl in the relationship.”

“I- You- Haruhi!” He stammered, going pink because _okay, true,_ as she laughed all the way until her door closed.

Tamaki knew she was joking because, well, it was Haruhi, she didn’t subscribe to that “gender role crap” as he figured she would put it. She wasn’t a romantic and that had nothing to with her being a girl or not. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about it as he placed an order on his bright and shiny cell phone (isn’t technology wonderful). 

He tried not to dwell on it, but he kind of failed miserably, even when the kissing began.

It sufficed to say that kissing was a new experience for them both. While both had thrown themselves into Shojo manga when initially facing their romantic feelings for one another, it was one thing to read about kissing and another thing entirely to actually _do it._

In the early days they still clacked teeth constantly, don't let the cameras fool you. They didn't even get the chance to practice that much because _somebody_ didn’t like PDA (wink wink, nudge nudge, this is about you, Haruhi), so they were pretty terrible at kissing.

It's not until they were properly moved into their Boston apartments and had a moment alone that they decided to resolve their silly kissing problem. Okay, _Tamaki_ decided that they would resolve it. He sat them down until he knew where to breathe, where to place his hands, and where Haruhi got bored.

Eventually, they got so good at it, it became as easy as breathing and they kissed all the time! Haruhi was constantly ready and willing to give him a kiss, even around the others!

...Okay, that wasn't true. Haruhi still didn't like PDA at all, and their teeth still occasionally hit each other, and there was that one time where he was trying to grab an elbow and it landed on her chest (she was embarrassed, he was embarrassed, it was a whole thing), and the dog interrupted them all too often, and Haruhi still got _so very bored_ in the middle of kissing sometimes.

It was nice, though, every now and then.

When Haruhi finally came out wearing a pair of well-worn basketball shorts and some oversized shirt she had stolen from her dad, the food was ordered just as she liked it. They both enjoyed a lot of cheese on their food, with Tamaki’s french nature and Haruhi’s eat-everything-in-sight nature. American food was just so delightfully greasy.

They watched TV until their food arrived, and then they watched some more TV as they ate, their legs tangled together so they could touch even as they laid on opposite sides of the couch. Some point after they finished eating, Tamaki went over to his apartment through the door connecting the two (after a month of begging he finally got Haruhi to move the bureau) to change into comfortable clothing as she cleaned.

 _Then,_ at some point after _that,_ and please don’t ask for specific times because Tamaki doesn’t have them, they ended up on Haruhi bed, making out with little restraint.

“Thanks for tonight,” Haruhi mumbled when she finally pried her lips out of Tamaki’s teeth, which was the thing that made him realize that they were kissing. “Seriously though, I’m sorry I’m not very romantic. I can’t be that way for you, even though I know you want it.”

Tamaki pulled away from where he was kissing the soft underside of her chin, frowning down at her. “I don’t mind. If it was a big issue then we wouldn’t be here, five months in.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She propped herself up on her arms, the two of them sitting mostly side-by-side, with part of Haruhi’s legs thrown over his own. “I just… Sometimes I worry that I can’t ever truly be what you want. I’m not- I’m not one for affection and I know it hurts you sometimes. I just don’t want to make it seem like I don’t want this.”

He watched her, thinking as she stared down at her legs. They were long, coltish, and creased from her blankets. They were hairy and unfeminine and scabbed with old memories of childhood playtime, and he loved her legs. Tamaki loved her. There was a note of guilt in Haruhi’s voice, and he could tell that she had been questioning herself for her absolutely unromantic nature for a while.

Rather than say anything, rather than letting her worry more or say anything else, Tamaki launched into action: he jostled her and pinned her to the bed. She made a surprised noise but went quiet when he started peppering kisses up and down her face and collarbone. Tamaki continued kissing her until she began to laugh, complaining about how it tickled.

When he finally did stop, he grinned at her, dizzy just looking into her eyes which were a deep rich brown, like the soil in his grandmother’s garden. “It’s true, I always expected to date someone just as mushy as me, but that’s changed. I don’t want mushy. I want you. Haruhi, I love you for you. Unromantic, messy, hardworking, harsh-”

“Laying it on a little thick there, Tamaki.”

He swallowed, and then smiled again; her tone had shifted from desolate to hopeful. “The point is, you don’t have to feel bad just because you aren’t the same level as romantic as I am. I mean, I know I’m great, but I don’t have the energy to date myself.” Then, Tamaki laughed, smiling shyly. “Hey, ha. Pinned you.”

She shook her head in disbelief but nudged a hand out to pull him down onto her with a small, pleased grunt. There was no more talking for a good little while - their mouths were a little occupied. At some point, Tamaki could feel Haruhi’s legs shift slightly, her ankles hooking around his own. He didn’t think about it until she shifted again, using her pelvis to lift up and push sharply. Tamaki shouted in surprise, but her legs kept his own locked, and suddenly he was spinning to meet the Earth.

Then, he landed on his back. Looking down at him was Haruhi, her eyes twinkling with roguish humor. _Twins’ influence,_ he thought to himself with maybe a little too much excitement (however, that may have been because of the position he was in). Her hands kept his wrists pinned next to his head (though he could likely break out pretty easily), and his heart thumped in his chest. “Wh- Wher- W-”

“I’ve been learning a little bit of self-defense from Hani.” She beamed so wide the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Haha. Pinned you,” Haruhi mocked. Thanks to the kissing, her voice was low and raspy, as gravely as a rock road. It was the same voice she used in her more conscious moments at the Host Club (because at some point, someone had to wonder why this boy who should theoretically be going through puberty had a voice as clear and high as a bell). Tamaki’s face, inexplicably, flushed crimson. “Happy five-month-anniversary,” she finally wished, lowering her mouth to his own, paying no mind to the heat in his face.

 _Oh my god,_ Tamaki thought, and even within his mind, the words felt strangled. _I’m the girl in the relationship._

(Then, when the next day everyone stopped by for breakfast, they asked about their anniversary. Haruhi laughed about how she didn’t even know while Tamaki went very red and stared at his eggs. It was very nice, however, she assured when they got a little miffed about their planning going to waste. Tamaki, for his part, didn’t speak until Haruhi went to change out of her sleep clothing. He asked Hani very quietly, “Is it true you’re teaching Haruhi some self-defense?” to which the older boy cheerily replied, “Yep, just a couple of basic moves!” Then, to much of the confusion of the club, Tamaki requested, tone edging on reverent, “Please continue to teach her a lot.”)

*

He didn’t even _know_ she was learning any martial arts. It’s not a big deal, honestly. After their anniversary, she brought him along to one of the sessions with Hani, which really was just a very low-key affair where he showed her a couple of very basic karate and judo moves - just enough that she’d be able to protect herself if worse came to worse.

“I considered it after the encounter at the beach, do you remember? But I didn’t have the time or drive to pursue it,” she explained between moves. “Between the club, classwork, and housework, that left most of my time booked. I decided that once I had the opportunity I’d start sometime after the kidnapping scare. Those guys weren’t evil, obviously, but it showed I’m still vulnerable to attacks. Plus, the crime rate in America is much higher.”

They were all very practical, very boring, very Haruhi-typical answers. The demonstrative session had the same attitude with its straight-forward moves primarily for self-defense like the one she had used the previous night to flip him onto his back. 

Boring, boring, boring, boring. Well, he was glad she _was_ taking her own safety into consideration, but otherwise, it was a simple class with a simple reason.

The thing was, however, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Tamaki had tried for days to move on with his life as normal, but there was this new and unexplainable urge, like an itch under his skin, to watch her in action again, sweaty and strong and intently focused. Also, for her to do that move again, the one where she flipped him. It was killing him because it was stupid and if she asked she’d probably ask why and he didn’t _know_ why.

“Hey, boss, you got those drinks yet?” A voice called, snapping him out of his stupor. Right, okay, not the time or place. He was getting drinks for their movie night! Right.

Even if they got together as a group frequently, nigh-daily, it was still nice to have dedicated “family” nights as a group. It kept anyone from feeling neglected, and, to Haruhi’s hope, kept them from attempting to start trouble just for attention. The usual activity was a movie in one of the bigger apartments, though sometimes they branched out and went to dinner or something more high-energy like an amusement park. It was a shame there weren’t as many karaoke places in Boston, though with Haruhi’s grip on tempo…

He shuddered as he brought the gathered drinks into the front room of Kyoya’s apartment. It wasn’t worth thinking about. “Alright, three sodas, iced tea for Haruhi and Kyoya, and water for me and Mori. Is that it?” He asked, setting the drinks down and wriggling into his designated spot on the couch between Haruhi and Kyoya.

“Yep, thanks.” Kaoru snatched his soda off the table first, his brother scrolling through the list of available movies. After he cracked it open with an audible hiss, he shifted to look at Tamaki with a scrutinizing look.

He could feel his sins crawling down his back. Kaoru’s gaze was piercing and totally undeserved. “Why… are you staring at me?”

Karou cocked his head before shrugging, putting up a false air of casualness. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that Haruhi was telling us you’ve been acting strangely for the past couple of weeks.”

“Wha- Haruhi?”

Tamaki twisted to face her, confused because no he wasn’t! Haruhi, for her part, just rolled her eyes and gave the twin a sharp glare. Then she shrugged, throwing her arm around Tamaki’s neck. “I told you guys that in confidence. You really know how to keep a secret, don’t you?”

“You were telling us about it with Tamaki just in the other room!” Hikaru argued back, pressing back against the couch’s armrest. He, like his brother and Hani, was forced to sit on the floor. It was a nice section of floor with a comfy rug and a pillow to sit on, but he had complained about it the first few times nonetheless. “Who’s to say he didn’t know?”

“I _didn’t_ know!” Hikaru shrugged noncommittally, and he felt like glaring at the brothers as well. Instead, he continued staring at Haruhi, who looked equal parts annoyed and sheepish. “I’ve been acting strange? You’ve been worried about me?”

She sighed, the hand on his back rubbing gentle circles that he instinctively leaned into. “Look, Tamaki. I only brought it up to them because they’re your friends. I wasn’t intending to keep anything from you, okay? Can we talk about this later? I’m sure they don’t care about this enough to listen to us speak.”

“I certainly don’t,” Kyoya chimed in, while the others provided contradictory answers of, “Of course we care! We want to help Tamaki too! We’re nosy! We’re nosy! We’re incredibly nosy!” (Okay, maybe Tamaki made up that last part.) Haruhi groaned, pushing her fingers into the crook of his spine.

“I’m starting the movie,” Mori finally interrupted, snatching the remote right out of Hikaru’s hand. Hikaru bitched and pouted for a minute, before finally muttering something about freakish kendo champions and settling in to watch the show: some movie that the film crew Renge hired produced that was actually interesting. 

They had watched the movie multiple times, and it was a club favorite. If pressed, Tamaki could even quote some of his favorite scenes line for line, word for word. None of them asked for his reenactment, however, so he was free to sit there and go stir-crazy. Haruhi was worried about him? He had apparently been acting worryingly? What was he doing that was so worrying?

“Quit that,” Kyoya muttered, elbowing Tamaki in the gut with only the strength it took to get the point across. His glasses caught the light of the television as he ducked his head in a glare directed right at Tamaki. “I can hear you thinking from here. I didn’t know you were capable of that.” 

“Thinking so loudly?”

“No. Thinking, period.”

Tamaki went silent, as did his thoughts. Even when he was being mean, quiet, and brash, Kyoya still knew exactly what to say to mollify him, even if it didn’t stop him from being anxious overall. The movie was just as great as it always was, and Haruhi’s hand running it’s way up and down his spine grounded him, but it was over much too soon.

Quickly, he and Kyoya cleared the cups and discarded snack wrappers from his coffee table, the rest of his friends gearing up to head back to their own apartments. As he helped wash the cups out, Haruhi emerged from the front room.

She was hunched over, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket with some degree of anxiety in her posture. Haruhi glanced at him and then Kyoya, raising an eyebrow at the other boy. After he finished drying out the last of his cups, he nodded to her and took his leave, sending Tamaki a sharp look right before he stepped out, clearly translating _don’t mess this up_ in a very scary way.

“So, uh…” He began eloquently, attempting to lean back against the counter as casually as possible, but messing it up by being a little too far from it. He stumbled when he fell back, and she stifled a laugh as he grinned sheepishly. “You said I’ve been acting strangely?”

“You know that the rest of the guys are definitely listening to our conversation, right?” She deflected with bemusement. “You want to have this talk here?”

“Well, it’s not as if it will be a personal talk, considering you brought it up to them first.” Tamaki was attempting to say it as a light fact to appease her concerns, but without his consent, it came out hurt and a tiny bit peeved. She winced, and he was sure he could hear the spies wince as well, but it truthfully served them right.

“I wasn’t trying to talk about you behind your back, Tamaki. I was just looking for a second opinion.” It seemed like they were both having a difficult time regulating their tone that night; her response came out gruff and equally annoyed, despite her stricken expression. However, _she_ leaned into it, rolling her eyes at him and continuing, “It may come as a surprise, but they’ve known you longer than I do so if anyone can judge when you’re just acting like an idiot or whether I should actually be concerned, it’s them.”

He stared at her, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re mean,” Tamaki finally said, suddenly exhausted. “I’m not trying to pick a fight, Haruhi. You’re worried about me, so I’m worried about what I’m doing. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Haruhi watched him, narrowing her eyes with unwarranted suspicion. Like, hey! He helped her, could she be a pal for once and just tell him what he was doing that caused her concern? “Alright,” she eventually went, brushing her bangs out of her face. “It’s not even that big of a deal, so you’re going to be embarrassed that you got all up in arms about it. It’s just-” She huffed angrily, scuffing her shoe against the kitchen tiles. “For the past couple of weeks, you keep spacing out and then giving no reason for what you’re daydreaming about.”

What?

“That’s really it?” He asked. Haruhi nodded, visibly annoyed. “But… that’s nothing.”

“I know!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “It’s nothing! It’s absolutely nothing! Sometimes though, with you, it’s the littlest things that give you away, so I decided to ask them if they thought you were acting strange! You’ve been in your head for weeks, and you won’t talk about it, so I went to our friends about it. My bad!”

That was it. 

“Oh my god,” Tamaki said faintly, bringing a hand to cup his forehead. “I’m sorry I got so paranoid. I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are,” she muttered flatly, but he knew she wasn’t really all that mad. Irritated, yes, but Haruhi’s lips twitched faintly as she attempted to hold back her smile. “Do you even have a reason why you’ve been so spacey lately or did you seriously not realize?”

“I didn’t even…” He began, and then he frowned deeply, chewing at his lip. 

Even when he was being an evasive ass to her, she still cared about what was happening inside of his head. It wouldn’t be right to lie and say he didn’t realize anything. Haruhi watched him curiously, her hands settled back into her jacket pockets. Her eyes were wide and dark brown, taking him in with concern, even as her ever-untamable bangs fell in front of them. 

Tamaki looked up at her and swallowed his pride - their friends were probably still listening and it was edging into private conversation territory. “I _have_ noticed I’ve been less focused,” he reattempted, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not sure why, though. I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about, but thank you for paying attention. I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.”

Haruhi smiled, her gaze softening as she looked upon him. After a moment’s hesitation, she playfully told him, “You’re _always_ obvious, Tamaki,” as she moved slightly closer. Her fingers reached out towards him, hooking around the belt loops of his jeans. With a sudden jerk, she bridged the gap between them by tugging him forward, her hands cupping his waist. 

It probably made a hilarious sight, considering the height difference between the two. Tamaki wasn’t focusing on the humor in the situation, however. Out of surprise, he made some ridiculously embarrassing noise as he was pulled closer to her. He felt his face burn up so much he was practically _glowing_ while she just hummed and gave an exaggerated simper, though her face was dusted pink as well. “Haru-” The rest of her name got mangled in the squeak he made.

“You, uh. For me to accept your apology, you must give me a kiss, and then we can go join the others,” she bartered, doing her best to sound cool and confident as she could manage, though her voice had a timbre of nervousness in it. Then, Haruhi stared up at him expectantly. He was still as possible, mind and heart going overdrive, before he nodded swiftly and gave her a small kiss - a peck, if anything.

Once a few seconds had passed and he got it through his head that she was _requesting_ the kiss, he deepened it slightly, wrapping his arms around her body. Before they could stay locked like that for too long, a series of heckles came from around the corner in the hallway in the place of wolf-whistles, gagging, and a shout of, “Get a room!”

“Voyeurs!” Haruhi shouted back, pulling away from him quickly enough that it might hurt his feelings if it wasn't for the fact that she was beaming ear to ear, her arms wrapped around her body. Then, she looked back at him, her smile becoming looser and private, her ears bright red. After a moment or two of staring, she exhaled, then elbowed him gently as he stood stock-still. “I better head to my apartment, Tamaki. Good night,” she wished him, her words only barely slow enough to be understandable.

Haruhi absconded faster than he could wish her good night back.

“Smooth,” the twins complimented as they shuffled into the kitchen, patting him on the back. “Haruhi’s not only a natural host, she’s a natural flirt in real life too!”

“She’s not… typically like that,” Tamaki argued faintly as they wrestled him into a chair at the dining table. He felt hot and dizzy and like he was going to puke. Was he sick? Was he dying? Oh god, he was sick and he was dying.

“Tama!” Hani exclaimed, getting directly into his face. “Are you alright? What do you need? Are we crowding you? You look like you’re about to pass out. Breathe, Tama, breathe!”

Mori helped pull Hani away from the stupefied Tamaki as Kyoya set a glass of water in front of him, sitting in the chair across from him. “Hani, control yourself. You aren’t helping. Tamaki, are you alright?”

“I.. She..” He finally stirred, his hands flying to where her fingers had curled around his belt loops, as if touching it would give him some insight into her mind. “I didn’t imagine that. You saw that, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Kyoya conceded, acting as if he wasn’t just as nosy as the rest of the club members, or even more. He nudged the glass of water at him again, finally prompting Tamaki to take it up and drink slowly. “I’m not surprised. Well, I suppose her methods are different than expected, but her being forward doesn’t shock me.”

Tamaki raised an eyebrow, finally managing to get his heart rate under control. Of _course_ Kyoya knew something he had conveniently forgotten to tell the others. He bobbed his head, indicating to his friend to _please_ continue and inform him of what little detail he inevitably missed. 

“Near the end of our trip to Spain recently, she gave me advice on how to remedy my situation, so I gave her advice on how to remedy _her_ situation. Namely, she was unable to keep her cool around you. So, I just told her to flirt with you once and awhile, and she’d understand that you can’t keep your composure either. It seems she took my recommendation to heart.”

“Oh. You really said that to her?” Tamaki couldn’t help but feel faintly grateful, setting his glass back on the table.

“Yeah. I suppose I could be blamed for this, no need to thank me, but I was tired of seeing your smug expression whenever you flustered her,” Kyoya answered flippantly, standing up and clapping his shoulder. “Now, if you've regained your sense of consciousness, get the hell out of my apartment, all of you.”

Kyoya was a very good friend.

“You sure you’re alright, boss?” Hikaru confirmed once they were kicked out of Kyoya’s apartment, the two brothers hanging back as Hani and Mori went up ahead to their rooms. “You were near-catatonic back there.”

Tamaki looked at them, alarmed. Right, they saw how he was acting. They were probably going to make fun of him for the rest of his life. “I’m fine,” he eventually answered, eyes darting around to look for his best exit. “I just need some sleep. I’m beat! I’m going to head off now, _we’ll-see-each-other-at-breakfast-okay-bye._ ”

“Hm. You know what, Hikaru?” Kaoru began, eyes tracing Tamaki’s form as he dashed down the hallway and towards the elevator, which frankly, was _very_ rude and _very_ deserved.

“What is it, Kaoru?” He played along, propping his elbow on his brother’s shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips.

Kaoru turned his head towards him and grinned like a shark catching onto the scent of new prey. “This might turn out to be pretty interesting.”

*

“No.”

“But Kyoya! Just hear me out on this.”

“No. I've ‘heard you out’ against my will a hundred times before, and my answer is still no.”

Tamaki pouted, curling even farther into his jacket, sleek yet winter-ready. While Japan could be quite cool in the winters, Boston was definitely much colder. “I'm just saying. Winter break is coming up, which means _Christmas_ is coming up, which means…!”

“Somehow, that doesn't change my mind. No,” Kyoya repeated, his words as harsh and cold as the Massachusetts ice found on every street corner. He was being cruel. Was it so bad that he wanted Kyoya to be happy? Tamaki was a _certified_ love guru, and the moment he caught Kyoya making those soft, puppy-dog eyes at some other transfer student boy from somewhere European like Norway or whatever, Tamaki just _knew_ he had to push them together. For love!

“Kyoya, since we’re out of our parents’ constant watchfulness, there is no reason not to pursue a small fling. In fact, your senior years are _meant_ for casual fun and exploration! You shouldn’t avoid your feelings just because you’re unsure of what’s on the other side. At the end of the year, you go back to Japan, and he goes back to wherever he’s from. It _is_ in Europe, right?”

“He’s from Poland, you nimrod,” Kyoya confirmed, rolling his eyes. Poland? Oh, he was way off with that Norway guess. “We’ve been in class with him for how long without you knowing? Anyways, still no. I’m not looking for relationship advice, and if I was, I definitely wouldn’t take it from the likes of you! You have no room to lecture me on avoiding feelings considering what’s going on with you and Haruhi.”

“Eh?” Tamaki kicked at the muddied slush on the ground, his face flushed from the cold even behind his scarf. The walk to the subway station wasn’t extremely far, but it always seemed to be more intent on giving him frostbite as each day passed. “Now, just what is that supposed to mean?”

Kyoya muttered something (most likely scathing) under his breath, before coming to a sudden halt as they walked up to one of the roads they crossed. “Hey, shut up.”

“No, seriously! What are you tal-” Kyoya held up a hand, effectively silencing him with a look.

“No, seriously. Shut up,” Kyoya repeated, before glancing out down the street, his attention trained on a car parked on one side with the hood popped up. 

There were one or two people around it: an older gentleman wringing his hands nervously next to it (the likely owner of the said vehicle) and a young man doing some work in the front engine. His objects, which included a backpack, a scarf, and a white winter jacket, were set carelessly to the side, the boy seemingly content to do whatever he was doing only in a black long-sleeved shirt - with the sleeves rolled up, no less!

Tamaki mentally chided the idiot for going barebones in the cold, when Kyoya finally continued, “Isn’t that Haruhi working on that man’s car?” He squinted at the figure, trying to figure out where the similarities were when he realized, oh, wait, Haruhi has a white winter jacket. Oh, god, that wasn’t just any idiot doing car maintenance in December weather, that was his idiot!

“Uh, Haruhi?” He tentatively called as they headed over, just in case there was another young man with a white winter jacket who often jumped to help people without thinking things through. That was not the case, he was disappointed to find, as she turned her head at her name being called.

Haruhi straightened herself from where she was bent over inspecting whatever car parts that needed inspecting, a bit of dark something smudged on her hands. “Oh, Tamaki, Kyoya. Good morning, are you two heading to class?”

“That’s right. Shouldn’t you technically be in class right now as well?” Kyoya questioned, inspecting her and the vehicle as the older man came over to check what all the fuss was about.

“Yes, but when I saw this, I had to help. Ah, Mr. Clements, I’m almost finished putting the battery in!” She jumped right back into helping mode as he planted himself in front of them, the apparent Mr. Clements being an American, grandfather-appearing man with huge reading glasses. It was abundantly clear why he needed Haruhi’s help to change a car battery. “This is my friend, Kyoya, and my boyfriend, Tamaki. You two, this is Harold Clements. His daughter runs the local bakery.”

“Oh, very nice to meet you both,” he greeted with a strong Boston accent, shaking their hands with his own gloved one. “Yes, my car battery blew out this morning, and although I had the tools and a spare, I wouldn’t be able to change it out. My arthritis, a real pain. Haruhi came in and helped, thank god. You the boyfriend? I’ve, ah, I have a nephew down in one of the warmer states with a boyfriend as well. Good men, just like your boy is. I'm very supportive of it!”

Tamaki felt a little twinge to say something, like _hey, actually that’s my girlfriend, kudos to your nephew though!_ Kyoya was expecting it, eyeing him carefully as he shuffled impatiently, his glasses fogging up as he breathed. But also, Haruhi had hammered in the notion of ‘who cares?’ So instead, he just nodded politely and replied, “Thank you. You also seem like a fine gentleman. I’m so glad my Haruhi was there to step in!” 

Before they could say much else, Haruhi took a step back from the engine and pulled the hood down, looking expectantly at Mr. Clements. “Alright, go ahead and test to see if the battery works for me?” He pulled into the driver’s side (it still seemed strange that they drove on the opposite side of the road) and switched the engine on, the car helpfully turning on.

He stuck his head out of his window and exclaimed, “You’re a lifesaver! Stop by the bakery this week and we’ll let you pick out something for free!”

“Thank you, sir! I’ll try to find the time to come in.” She bent over to pick her stuff off of the ground, only pausing to wave goodbye as he peeled off of the side of the road. Tamaki and Kyoya helped grab her things, holding them as she dusted her coat off, though it was a hopeless cause - the white had gotten stained with the dirty slush of the ground. “Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

“Haruhi, might I ask,” Kyoya piped up, inspecting her backpack for any dirt as well, “you mentioned in the past that you and your father never owned a car, yet you dealt with that man’s battery with great efficiency. Where did you learn?”

She blinked, then shoved the coat on, dirt be damned. Tamaki had been put in charge of group laundry that week, which he usually did on Fridays, but he'd have to push it up a day to get that thing cleaned.

She talked as they walked, heading towards the subway station, explaining, “While it's true my family didn't own a car, my father used to have a friend from work who was living in their car at the time. When she came by she would show me how to fix a car in case I was ever in the position to work on one. I learned how to change a tire, change oil, jump start a car, and, of course, replace a car battery.”

That was helpful. Even Tamaki didn’t know how to fix up a car, and he was sure it was the same for the others. Most of their drivers could repair simple car issues, plus they could just pay for a mechanic anyway, so why bother? Haruhi, on the other hand, had shown slight discomfort with being driven home by chauffeurs in the past. Oh, idea! Should Tamaki buy Haruhi a car for Christmas? A car is a romantic gift, right? Wait, would Haruhi even want to exchange gifts? And a car might not be good to get until they’re back in Japan. Nevermind, scratch the car.

He turned his head to ask for her opinion on Christmas gifts, when Tamaki caught her staring at him, with an embarrassed, but slightly pleased look in her eyes. On second thought, her coat actually wasn’t that muddy. “So,” she began, falling into pace with him. Her eyes flitted once to Kyoya, before she looked back at Tamaki, a hint of a smile creeping up her lips. “Mr. Clements called me your boyfriend.”

“Yes,” Tamaki agreed.

Haruhi's smile only grew. “And you didn't correct him.”

“Yes,” he agreed again with more suspicion. “You're the one who told me to disregard when strangers gendered you incorrectly! Why, did you mind?”

“Not at all! In fact-” She finished hiking her bag onto her shoulders, Haruhi's tone light and chipper, stark against the dreary winter atmosphere, “-it was kind of nice being called your boyfriend.” Haruhi gave him one final sunny sliver of a smile, before she bounded ahead, already muttering to herself about how late she was.

While she moved on, Tamaki found himself suddenly frozen in place, as if the ice had somehow trapped him where he stood in under a few seconds. Kyoya, having seemed to anticipate his response, ceased walking as well. His glare had no heat to it, and he just sighed, tugging his scarf out of his face to be able to talk properly at Tamaki.

“I get you find your world flipped every time something unexpected happens, but really, we're going to miss our train if we don't get a move on. Do you mind pausing your neurotic breakdown until we're out of the cold?” Tamaki gave no response, so after a minute passed, Kyoya rolled his eyes and dragged him along by his jacket sleeve, instructing, “Don't slip and kill yourself on the ice, Tamaki.”

*

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

It rattled around in Tamaki’s mind as he tried to sleep, the word just dredging up some feeling, deep in his chest. The bedroom was dark, the blinds pulled closed to block out the light from the city. In Japan, while he still lived in a busy area, everything had been quieter at the mansions - a perk of the wealth, of course. It had been hard to adjust at first to the noise and the different time zones, and while most of them had gotten accustomed to the thirteen-hour difference, there were times when it was impossible to sleep.

Tamaki usually went to bed around ten and was decent at falling asleep quickly, but the light of the clock flashed near two in the morning, the only strip of light in the whole room. Antoinette was curled up at the bottom of the bed, snoring softly. Haruhi’s breathing was quiet and steady, her arms flung out around her like a starfish on top of his chest. The warmth seeped into his skin, a mix of irritation and grounding in the feeling.

They didn’t usually share a bed, more often than not agreeing to curl up in their separate apartments. It was a treat, reserved for the harder of study sessions or after Tamaki had taken a trip for a long weekend to Japan. That night, Haruhi had come down with a cough, and once he had gotten her to agree to his doting, it was as simple as making dinner then washing up properly for Haruhi to have turned to him and asked him, voice husky with sickness, to stay the night. It probably wasn’t a good idea to share a bed when she was sick, but, well. Whatever.

“Haruhi, are you awake?” He whispered into the dark, but there was no response. She didn’t even stir, her arm staying in her place and her breathing just as quiet. That was a relief, at least. Tamaki moved carefully as he turned in bed to face her, making sure he didn’t jostle her arms too much. “The way we’ve been working-- I’ve been unsettled lately.”

“I would never actually-- I mean, this isn’t a big enough of a deal to bring to you, but I just wanted to say it.” Still no response, good. “There’s something about the things you’re doing, the way you’re presenting yourself to the world, and it’s messing with my head. You’ve never been-- I don’t know how to explain it. You’ve got me doing it as well, not correcting anyone who calls you a boy. Going along with it. You like being called my boyfriend. What does that mean? You’ve assured you don’t care one way or another, but I-- But I--” Tamaki stopped, and then brought one hand to intertwine with Haruhi’s.

It was hard to say out loud, even though she was asleep, mostly because Tamaki wasn’t quite sure _what_ he was trying to say.

“I don’t care either way, really,” he confessed, his voice soft and hushed. “I just want to see you happy. In the beginning, when I was… like _that,_ I really tried to make everyone fit into my ideal of happiness. Especially you. I couldn’t control my own life so I pushed it on others. Now, I just want to see you be yourself. Is that strange? It feels like I’m giving in, yet I’m so glad for it, because seeing you like this is wonderful. I’m finally embracing the parts I used to want you to fix. Maybe it’s not very nice of me to have taken this long, but I-- I--” Tamaki stopped, swallowed. 

Tamaki had never been opposed to dating men. There was a boy, back in France, who looked at him occasionally during EPS like he was the most fascinating thing to exist, even sweaty and exhausted as he always was during that class, and Tamaki had encouraged it, relished in it. There was that little thing in the corner of his heart that grew into place his first year in Japan, that still existed for Kyoya and Kyoya alone, and even if he wasn’t going to address it anymore, that didn’t mean it wasn’t still _there._

When Haruhi had first come into the Host Club, crashing into their lives literally and figuratively, there was something about that brand new man of a transfer student that was unmistakably intriguing. He didn’t care for the roles designated, nor the boys upholding them. He was startled like a nervous cat, a little put out at being paraded around, but mostly, well, kind of a blunt asshole! He was unimpressed with the people and the acts and Haruhi was _especially_ unimpressed with Tamaki, whom he could just barely put up with.

He was cuter than expected, but he was still-- He had still been-- Tamaki had still thought--

The rules for men and women are different. Of course they are. The fact that Haruhi had not given a single shit about them, that even though they were high-strung and confused and just plain unhappy to be there, they still managed to come off confident even when breaking the _rules_ was…

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Haruhi, in her sleep, made a totally inelegant snort, nothing like the beauty he had spent years chasing, nothing like the girls he entertained in the club day after day. His total fascination with girlish Haruhi used to eclipse any love he had for boyish Haruhi, but now that he had _her,_ he was thinking about _him_ again. Tamaki wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore.

Tamaki rolled over away from her, Antoinette huffing at the movement of his feet. It was a weekend, so there wouldn’t be any class the next day, but still. He had to get some sleep, it wouldn’t do to dwell.

Despite this, it was a long time before he managed to shut his eyes.

*

A week before Haruhi’s birthday, on the very tail-end of January, she almost stepped directly on a package left outside her door. The only reason she didn’t was that Hani pointed it out in time for her to scoop it up before it was trampled.

“Who’s it from?” Hikaru asked, temporarily distracted from whatever mischief he was up to that required him to whisper in his brother’s ear.

“Dad,” Haruhi replied, inspecting the return address. “It’s probably for my birthday next week. Couldn’t he have just given this to me when I visited him for New Year’s?” They had flown back to Japan for winter break to celebrate the new year, and though the Fujioka’s had opted to stay at home rather than attend any of the holiday parties the other families were hosting, Ranka had seemingly warmed up to Tamaki and Haruhi’s relationship since the last time they met. He at least didn’t throw any water bottles at him that time.

“Are you gonna open it?” Kaoru prompted, but she just shrugged and held it under her apartment, focusing instead on unlocking the door.

“Later. When the time difference is better so I can call him. Are you all staying for dinner? I was thinking of ordering in from that German place tonight.” (Spoiler alert, they stayed for dinner.)

When she finally deemed it an acceptable time to open the gift (eight in the evening for Boston, while it was a little after nine in the morning for family back in Japan), most everyone had left already, complaining about school work they had to catch up on and figuring out logistics for the upcoming valentine’s. So all those who were left were Tamaki, Antoinette, home from doggy daycare, and Haruhi herself.

She opened it carefully, watching to make sure she didn’t accidentally slice her hand open with the penknife, as Mori had done back in October, to find a package of senbei, a few books that her dad had apparently thought she'd enjoy reading (with a note poking out of one of them, mind you), and at the bottom, a long, pleated skirt. Just from a cursory glance at it as Haruhi pulled it out of its plastic and unrolled it, Tamaki could tell it would, at the very least, go to her ankles.

“Hm,” Haruhi went as she stood up and held it in place. It was definitely too long, even if it was a nice green color Tamaki would’ve enjoyed seeing her in. “A bit big, unfortunately. Oh, and it even has pockets! That’s a shame.”

“Maybe you can have Ranka return it?” Tamaki suggested, reaching a hand out to feel the fabric; it was soft and smooth under his hands, and he felt almost as disappointed as Haruhi. “I could get you one for your birthday, if you so desired.”

She shrugged, fanning it out back on the floor to refold it. “It’s fine, not a big deal. It’s not particularly my style anyways. Pleated skirts remind me too much of junior high.” Tamaki felt a small burst of thankfulness that junior high in France didn’t require any uniforms. “I’ll go call and thank him. Do you mind organizing all of that?”

“Yes, alright. Senbei in the cabinet, books on the shelf, skirt in the closet?” She shot him a thumbs up and the side of her smile, before turning away, already dialing. Tamaki did as she asked and buzzed to life, putting the crackers with the others, the books in the Japanese section, before hurrying off to her room to put the skirt away.

It really was a nice skirt, Tamaki thought as he attempted to find a spot for it. Did she want it hung, or still in the box? Box might be better, so it wouldn’t seem like it was part of the wardrobe. It would be a maxi skirt, meant to fall right around the ankles, if only Haruhi wasn’t so short. It had gone to at least her feet, he’s not entirely sure what Ranka was thinking. Maybe it would fit someone around Tamaki’s height instead, though six feet was pretty tall for a girl.

Well, c'est la vie. Tamaki shoved the box in at the bottom near the back, and figured he wouldn't think about it again, except for maybe to remind Haruhi to figure out what to do with it.

He then proceeded to think about it.

It was mostly just vague disappointment that plagued him throughout his days occasionally, nothing more, nothing less. It was just a shame that such a lovely skirt was wasting away, going unused by the intended recipient. Of course, he’d seen Haruhi in dresses and skirts dozens of times over the past, what, two years? He wasn’t sure why _this_ was the one that was getting to him.

Maybe it was because that shade of green was his favorite color, and skirts with pockets were _such_ a novelty according to the women in his life that it seemed like it was a travesty to waste it. She had the opportunity, the ability to wear it, what a _waste._

If he felt like it, of course, he could get it refitted just in her size for basically no cost. He was sure with enough prodding even Hikaru and Kaoru could do that, albeit rudimentarily. It was just-- The skirt seemed perfect as it was, even though he knew it wouldn’t work. Right? Maybe it didn’t just have to be a maxi skirt, even though that was what it was supposed to be. As long as it didn’t drag, Haruhi could probably still wear it, at the very least in their apartments. He needed a way to test it, to compare.

...Haruhi was around one hundred and seventy centimeters, while he was one hundred and eighty-three. That’s only a thirteen-centimeter difference. He could test it, he could compare the math, see how it works. It would be so _easy._

For Haruhi, he finally relented. Relenting means slackening, giving up. It means he was reluctant. It means he _hesitated._ He just wanted everyone to know that.

On a day she had class, Tamaki let himself into her apartment, the key she gave him sliding in with ease, with for some reason, surprised him. He felt like something should be blocking his entrance harder, like he was being watched. It felt an awful lot like when he was first moved to the main mansion, and he was constantly being observed by his grandmother and representatives to check and make sure he wasn’t breaking the rules.

He came in quietly and locked the door behind him, taking his shoes off and the entrance before padding silently to her bedroom. In, out. In, out, that’s it, he’d be fast, and Haruhi would never be the wiser.

In her bedroom, he spread the closet open, crouched down, and before he could dwell on it more, pulled the box out. The skirt was still exactly where he had left it; folded the same way and everything. Something in his chest loosened slightly, but only slightly, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Tamaki ignored it.

As he stood, he flapped the skirt a few times, airing it out, before lining it up with his waist, and then, Tamaki turned to face the mirror.

...Huh.

It was him, except it looked like he was wearing a skirt. He had obviously dabbled in feminine clothing for the Host Club before, but he had never worn a straight up-and-down skirt or dress - that was something usually the twins or Hani took up instead. And even then, those were all elaborate, obviously dressy, not serious or casual at all.

The Tamaki staring at himself with a green skirt angled just so wasn’t the same Tamaki that wore jungle prince outfits or feathers or greek chitons: it was just Tamaki, looking like himself, the self he was when nobody was looking, and he was wearing a skirt. It didn’t do much for him outside of going _that’s nice,_ but he felt a little breathless anyway because nobody was _stopping him._ He was breaking the rules, and no-one had jumped out and said that he couldn’t. For half of a second, he was doing it, and there was no veil, however flimsy it might’ve been, of an excuse.

Then, he remembered. Tamaki’s chest tightened up again, and he compared the length clinically. The end of the skirt fell around his ankles, so no. No, it probably wouldn’t fit Haruhi.

He folded the skirt back up, placed it back into its box, and shoved it into a dark corner of the closest, never to be looked at or examined ever again, Tamaki was sure of it.

*

Valentine’s day was a relatively low-key affair that year - at least compared to the years previous when they were a part of the host club. A couple of girls sent chocolates overseas, but it was mostly just the members half-heartedly moaning and posturing disappointment (except for Hani, who really was upset).

The differences in cultures between Franch, Japan, and America were quite staggering. No matter how long Tamaki stayed in one country, there was always that little french voice in the back of his head that said, _well, this is strange._

Sure, he had Japanese and English tutors who had explained the cultures, but his first time experiencing Valentine’s in Japan had been a massive culture shock. In France, it was all about romantic intent, so the giri chocolate had thrown him off.

Ah, well, that was in the past. Of course, in America, the holiday was meant primarily for romantic couples (like France), yet allowed for wriggle room to give your friends gifts (like Japan), while also being a primarily man-give-women type holiday (like France). Everything was confusing. Tamaki was going to go live in a cave where Valentine’s day couldn’t hurt him.

Not everything was terrible about Valentine’s, however. Case in point: “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?”

Tamaki was preparing lunch, bowing his head over a pan of sausage slices, and looked up and over at Haruhi, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch, pouring over a history book. She wasn’t staring at the book then; she was looking at Tamaki, curious and earnest. “What?” He asked.

“It’s Valentine’s day,” she pointed out. Of course he knew that, the group chat had been blowing up all day mourning the loss of attention. Well, not Haruhi, naturally. He was almost surprised that she even realized what day it was. While he had been disappointed not to receive any chocolate, even though they were now dating, he wasn’t surprised either. “Do you want to go out for dinner together?”

Tamaki blinked, surprised. “ _Yes,_ ” he immediately replied before he could think it through. They had gone on dates before, obviously, but Haruhi much preferred staying in and he didn’t feel like complaining. They hadn’t even gone out for Christmas Eve, so her even _asking_ about going out was a shocker.

He gave a quick glance to the food to make sure it wouldn’t burn over if he stepped away - it was perfectly fine, and the sausages were nearly done - before practically running to the couch. Tamaki stood carefully in front of her, smiling and asking, “You actually want to go out tonight?”

Haruhi laughed. “I’m trying, alright?” She said, voice low. He believed her; while she fretted about it enough for the both of them, she still wasn’t… _wonderful_ at being romantic, so he appreciated even just the thought. 

“I know,” he replied, beaming. He stood there in front of her, hovering a little awkwardly. Should he go back to the food? Should he sit down next to her? Should he pull her up? Finally, she sighed, seemingly sick of the confusion as well, and pulled him down into her lap.

He wasn’t a small man by any means, but he was light enough that when he fell into her lap, Haruhi only grunted a little in surprise before grinning up at him. Tamaki felt like there were butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and he smiled back, hooking his arms around her neck. With her martial arts lessons, she grew in strength, and sitting there in her lap… is it weird to say he felt sort of dainty?

 _God, I love you,_ he thought.

“Dinner,” he said softly. “That sounds good. Do you want me to pick and pay?”

“Oh, I can pick something. It would be wonderful if you chipped in, however,” Haruhi teased, before pulling him into a kiss. Haruhi should be romantic more often, it was _wonderful._

It was when he wobbled away on legs shaky like a newborn deer’s to finish the food he came back to himself. _Dainty?_ Tamaki thought. _Where on Earth did that come from?_ To be held like a delicate thing by Haruhi… That wasn’t how it normally worked, how it was supposed to work, but he felt charmed all the same. The basic act of flirting, even if the roles were reversed in a way they weren’t supposed to, there had been an odd thrill there Tamaki couldn’t chalk up to just the romantic intent behind the gesture. There was a tugging deep in his chest that he couldn’t identify, that he could barely look at.

Of course, he shouldn’t really be looking in the first place. Of course. Because looking means you’re paying attention, and paying attention means you’re interested, and being interested means-

Well, Tamaki isn’t quite sure what it means, especially with something as simple as being held by Haruhi. But it means _something,_ he knows deep down. It feels like when he had feelings for Haruhi without realizing it, like he’s making a fool out of himself just to keep himself safe. The problem is, he isn’t quite sure what else he’s supposed to do, isn’t sure how to identify the issue, so he’s-- so he’s stuck. That’s fine, he supposes. He can always deal with it later.

Lunch. Focus on lunch.

...He had to text the guys.

Tamaki! 👑: Haruhi invited me out for dinner tonight! What do I do??? ☆ｏ(＞＜；)○  
HIKANGAROO: why are you asking us lol  
Hani 🐰🎂: Congrats!!  
Kaoruuu!: What restaurant?  
Tamaki! 👑: I.. don’t.. know.. (＞ｍ＜) I should probably ask!!  
Kyoya: That would probably be smarter than bugging us about this, yes.  
Hani 🐰🎂: Most places are reserved already so it probably won’t be too fancy!! Don’t worry!! Maybe get her some chocolates. <3  
Kaoru!: Or flowers! Her place is still so plain.  
Kyoya: Doesn’t Haruhi read this?  
HIKANGAROO: she never checks her phone haha im pretty sure shes muted this chat

That was… sort of helpful? Ugh, no it wasn’t, what was he thinking?

He waited all day in anticipation. Hani was right, of course, it would be hard to snag a reservation to a nice place at such short notice, so it wouldn’t be anything particularly fancy (not that Haruhi would choose a fancy place of her own free will anyway). It would still be nice to eat out with her. He fretted about it until:

“Hey,” Haruhi began several hours later, poking her head into his living room. “If you wanna get ready, our reservation is in about half an hour?”

“Oh!” Tamaki replied, jumping to his feet. He had been kind of… zoning for a little while in front of the television while Haruhi had taken up residence in her own apartment a while ago. He was just glad she finally agreed to move the dresser out of the connecting door. Her hair was straight and slicked back, and she was even wearing _contacts,_ a habit she had grown out of since they stopped hosting. “Is it… fancy?”

She smiled sardonically. “Not that fancy. It’s just the Italian place near the grocers. If you want to look nice, I’m just going in business casual.” He gave her a thumbs up in the affirmative, and then scampered off to his closet.

He dug out-- not his best shirt, but one that Haruhi had bought for his birthday. It wasn’t the most expensive gift he had ever gotten, obviously, and he hadn’t gotten it until months after his birthday because that was around the time he was confined in the main mansion, but he loved it nonetheless. It was a white sweater, a more feminine cut than his stylist usually opted for, but it paired well with dark pants.

He resisted the urge to change into his fanciest suit. Just barely.

When Tamaki popped his head out, Haruhi was sitting on his couch waiting for him, poking around on her phone. She was dressed similarly, a suit jacket pulled on over her shirt. He was half-convinced that was the jacket from the suit the twins loaned her. Did she just never give it back? She was also wearing… was that… No, it couldn’t be…

“Oh, are you ready?” Haruhi asked, looking up when she noticed Tamaki had come into the room. She pocketed her device and stood up, smiling at him. “Alright, I took Antoinette over to Mori’s already, so you don’t have to worry about her, and the drive over to the restaurant is only about twenty minutes away. I’ve called an uber already, so you don’t have to worry about that, either."

“Ah, thank you,” he said faintly, approaching. She watched as he came close, and allowed him to gently grab her chin, tilting it upwards to get a better look. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

“Lip gloss,” she corrected. “I’m just trying it out. Not sure if I enjoy it very much, but it’s better than lipstick.”

“Looks nice,” Tamaki said, bending down to kiss her. When he pulled away, she was scowling. “Oh, what, my petal?”

“When you kiss me, I have to reapply it,” she complained, darting around him to glare in a mirror they had set up near the front door. “I don’t even _like_ lip gloss, it’s all… slimy.”

Well, that was true. Kissing her with the gloss on was _weird._ But it looked very nice on her. “If you don’t want to wear it, then why are you?”

“Well,” she huffed, making faces at her reflection, “you like it on me, don’t you? I’m trying to… to look nice.” She always looked nice, he wanted to say, coming up behind her as she grimaced. He appreciated the effort, the attempt at consideration even if it made her uncomfortable. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable of course, but he also didn’t want the attempt to be _wasted,_ so…

“Why don’t you put it on me?” He suggested, the words falling out of his mouth before he could fully register what he was saying. Tamaki’s eyes widened in surprise, his mirror expression reading loud and clear, _did I just say that out loud?_ Haruhi also looked mildly thrown off, but he didn’t get a good look at her face before she was nodding to herself and commanding, “Alright, stay still.”

The instinct of listening to Haruhi kicked in, and he did as she asked as she twirled around, uncapping the gloss. He didn’t move as her hand cupped his chin, guiding his mouth into an open ‘O’ shape so she could apply it on properly. It was all going so _fast._ The gloss came onto his lips and it was… greasy. And it tasted a little bit weird when it managed to get on the inside of his mouth. 

Tamaki waited patiently until she finished, pulling her hand away, thoroughly satisfied with her work. Haruhi smiled at him as she closed the gloss back up, wiping away the film on her own lips now that she had the permission to get rid of it. “You look good in that,” she told him gently. Tamaki turned to look at the mirror. He really did look good in it.

“We should probably leave,” Tamaki said, rather than anything else he could say, just staring at himself in the glass. “We don’t want to lose our table.”

“Okay,” Haruhi said agreeably, because if there was one wonderful thing about Haruhi, it was that she wasn’t one to send herself into a tizzy about something others were doing. She could get worried like anyone else, but for the most part, she minded herself and didn’t interrogate the actions of others too much. Tamaki appreciated that part of her then, when she slipped her hand into his and didn’t ask any questions, their car waiting for them outside.

*

God, it’s just-- It’s just-- It’s just that Tamaki had no idea what was going on from that point forward. He had zero control of the situation, of his feelings, he wasn’t sure where everything was landing. Well, it’s not like he _ever_ knew, but he always figured he had at least an _inkling_ of an idea, and he didn’t even have that anymore.

Sure, his father is in and out of the house a lot, oh, so Tamaki’s a bastard born out of wedlock and his grandmother hates him? Cool. Oh, so his mom’s getting sicker and the fortune is tanking and Tamaki has to leave to save her? Oh, awesome, his grandmother _still_ hates him so there’s not even a guarantee that he’ll become the heir? That’s fine, he’s not really interested in the business anyways.

Okay, make friends with this really smart kid. Hm, he’s been holding deep resentment against you for, oh, a few months? It’s okay, they’re best friends now. Start a Host Club, get those twins, the resistance is weird but it’s okay, he’s _got this._ New school year, that’s fun, there’s a new kid to entertain? It’s a guy? Great! Wait, he broke a vase, not great. _Wait,_ he’s a _she_ and he _totally_ made an ass out of himself. Even worse. 

Then it’s all do the work, try to deal with this weird feeling deep inside, try to get your grandmother to stop hating you, cry about your mom a little bit, realize your feelings for Haruhi, try to get _Haruhi_ to stop hating you, break out of your grandmother’s, see your mom, get the girl, follow the girl to America. It happened so _fast._

At least back then he always had a plan of some sort, as half-baked as they were, no matter how many times they failed. Tamaki had no plan with Haruhi anymore, with himself.

It’s then that the memories flood back in waves. Tamaki can remember the night of their anniversary, where in her more comfortable clothing, once pilfered from the men’s section of the clothing stores, in her still-short hair, Haruhi had looked for all the world like the young man Tamaki first met.

Haruhi looked like that boy who stepped into the music room with a chip on his shoulder and a pressure to live up to a legacy just as much as any other student there. Under Tamaki, over Tamaki, it was him; a pretty young man who rebuffed all of Tamaki’s attempts at affection, much to his chagrin and secret delight.

Haruhi never grew out of being that boy, and shehethey never would. Just like how Tamaki would never grow out of being completely riveted with that man, the way he walked and talked and seemed so at peace in the world it made Tamaki shiver with barely-repressed envy.

Oh, god.

It was just going on a loop in his head: hair, belt loops, boyfriend, skirt, lap, lip gloss, this _ache_ inside of him. Tamaki knew what longing was, knew what it was like to yearn for something he couldn’t ever hope to reach, something unidentifiable from where it sat in his heart. He knew what it was like to bring a light to the dark cavity of his chest, how invasive yet indescribable it is to realize that there was something _living_ in there, breathing, reaching out.

There was something wrong with him. There might have always been something wrong with him. It’s like, of course Tamaki, of course there’s something wrong with you. He can count on one hand the number of times there hasn’t been some saddening, tragically repressed backstory bogging him down. But that’s not _it._

He’s-- He’s-- He’s--

*

(He’s staring in the mirror, and nothing feels right, like he’s itchy under his skin. Like something is attempting to crawl out.

Tamaki loves what he looks like, loves who he is, but sometimes (and doesn’t everyone have this thought?) it’s like he can’t recognize who he’s looking at in the mirror. Objectively, he knows that it’s him, it’s him staring back at himself, but if he looks long enough, close enough, all the identifying details warp into some sort of thing that he understands but doesn’t comprehend.

Is he allowed to do this? Is he allowed to do that? There have always been rules regulating his entire life, what’s one or two more? Even looking feels dangerous, like someone will find out, and someone will say that’s not where he’s supposed to be. That someone will see him looking and rather than letting him crawl his way out of the dark on his own, pink and slow and squishy and raw, they will _carve_ him out, forcing him into the sunlight for everyone to gaze upon him

So rather than looking, risking himself, he just-- Doesn’t. He looks away, doesn’t look at all, turns his gaze downwards at the street until he sees someone in the distance like him and he’s _terrified_ and he’s _desperate_ and he _wants._ )

*

“Haruhi, why do you enjoy being seen as a boy?”

Haruhi looked up and blinked at him, puzzled, from over her soup. Spring had sprung weeks back, and though they had already gotten what was hoped to be their last snow, it still wasn’t getting warmer. The end of the American school year loomed, and technically, that would signal him and Kyoya graduating high school. What a world. “What was that?”

Tamaki didn’t meet her eyes, instead choosing to stare down at his food, watching the swirling of the broth as he stirred it. He was kicking himself, a small part of him trying to claw out his voice box so he’d stop, but if anyone would understand, it would be Haruhi. She had to understand. “You don’t mind as being seen as either a boy or a girl, right?”

“Um, yes? It’s just not that big of a deal to me.”

“And yet, you’ve talked about enjoying it when you’re-- When you’re called my _boyfriend…_ ” He swallowed the thought, and some of his soup. “So, I suppose I just wanted to ask why that is.”

There was a silence, and Tamaki reluctantly managed to drag his head up to look at her. She was just staring off into the distance, making her thinking face as her fingers tapped against the table. “Huh. I suppose that is strange,” she remarked mildly.

Tamaki twitched. “Well?”

“ _Well,_ ” Haruhi started, raising an eyebrow at his tone, “I’m not entirely sure, Tamaki. It might have just been happiness at you not jumping in to correct people when they perceive me as male. I enjoy being called your girlfriend, or your partner, as well. To answer your first question, I suppose I enjoy being seen as male because people are less likely to treat me with fragility, or underestimate me.”

He anticipated more, but she just stared at him placidly, waiting for a reply. “Oh,” he finally said, awkwardly. “Is that… it? That seems a bit of a cynical take, especially considering how important of a topic being perceived is.”

“It’s not _that_ important,” she argued. “At least, it isn't to me. Gender isn’t something I think much about; it’s just something that happens to me.” Tamaki scowled. What did that even _mean?_ It just _happened_ to her? Gender didn’t just _happen,_ it was something you had to choose to follow, otherwise there were _consequences._

“I don’t get it.” Haruhi sighed, before setting her utensils down and reaching across the table to grab his hand. He let her take them, her thumb rubbing gently against the dorsal side, almost unconsciously.

“You don’t have to get it, but it’s just the way I see things. I’ve always been practical, my mother was the breadwinner and head of household, and my dad’s been open about his sexuality and nature since I was a little kid. The gender they were assigned just happened to them; it’s what they _chose_ to do that defined them,” she explained.

“Just because I’m biologically a girl, I’m expected to act a certain way or dress in certain things or only do certain stuff. I don’t care about any of that, and I draw the line at forcing myself to act like I’m something I’m not, just because that’s what I’m ‘supposed’ to do. I’m not helpless, I’m not traditional, and I’m not stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Tamaki tried valiantly, but she interrupted, “That’s not what I’m trying to say!” before frowning.

Haruhi stood up and crossed over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder from where she stood over him. When he was sitting down, they were mostly at eye-level, and she always wanted to stare right into your face; it was a trait that proved beneficial while hosting, and delightfully ruinous in day-to-day life.

“Tamaki, when I look in the mirror, I see neither a boy or a girl,” she explained. “I see _myself._ I don’t think of myself as either, and my personhood has nothing to do with any of that. Since my upbringing was so untraditional, it wasn’t a struggle for me to find myself past expectations set for me, but obviously, expectations have been a huge part of your shaping for your entire life. Sometimes people have to sit with their feelings to find out who they are without being a boy or a girl, and that’s okay.” Haruhi was looking right into his eyes, her gaze earnest and slightly worried, and he couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop himself.

“I-- I don’t--” He stuttered out, before gathering himself with a nervous laugh, “I’m not… _not_ a man, Haruhi. I just wanted to know why you like being seen as a boy. Intellectual curiosity!”

Her expression softened, but it was still pinched with worry. “Okay,” she said, unconvinced but trying not to show it. “Well, I hope I answered your question.”

Tamaki squeezed her hand on instinct. She had. He just didn’t want to admit it.

*

His favorite fruit is figs. There’s a metaphor in there, somewhere. They’ve got wasps in them, every single one. The female wasps crawl into figs, and if it's the inedible male caprifig, the wasp lays her eggs before dying. The eggs hatch and, after mating, the male wasps, blind and wingless, burrow their way out, making way for the female wasps, and thus continues the cycle.

The first time he heard about wasps living inside of figs, as a little kid living in France with barely any friends, he was horrified and refused to eat anything involving figs. At this point, at the age of eighteen, he eats figs all the time now.

It’s not like there’s any difference between the fruit then and the fruit now, it’s just his mindset that’s changed. The edible female figs overtake the wasp, slowly integrating it into the protein of the fruit. Something that once was living, is somewhat dead, contributing to the life of the fruit - not even a fruit, an inverted flower, that’s why the wasps have to go inside. To pollinate.

Like the caprifig, there’s been something living in him, growing inside of him, ripping its way out by the skin of its teeth, desperate and blind and something that will die as soon as it leaves him. Making way for the rest, for the pollinators, for the ones who will continue to live because the sunlight is warm on their backs, and the figs call out for them - juicy, and ripe, and yielding.

*

The school year would be ending soon, and then it would be back to Japan, back to Ouran (university edition!), and back to the thrum of daily life. While he had escaped for a little while, had gotten away from the responsibilities of the Suoh corporation for a few months, mostly out from the public eye to hole up in a shitty Boston apartment with his girlfriendboyfriendpartner, and all of their friends, he would be back soon enough.

After he gets back, it will be corralling him, like he’s a particularly excitable and messy dog. He’s not about to object to it, in fact, he made his choice ages ago; he _welcomes_ the responsibilities of training to take over the business, he just wishes it wouldn’t stifle him, wouldn’t make him go running backward, tripping over his feet.

But maybe it doesn’t have to.

After his grandmother, after his father, after his mother, things are loosening up, if only slightly. Not to mention, when Tamaki decided to take on the family business, he also decided that he would be _different_ from his predecessors. He wanted to help, he wanted to make people feel safe and comfortable, and he wanted to foster a business that would make people happy, would make _everyone_ happy, no matter what they needed, no matter how much work it took.

Why couldn’t he do the same for himself?

Tamaki is allowed to do the same for himself. Or, if he isn’t, he at least _should_ be allowed to do the same for himself.

He’d like to think he’s a heart-on-his-sleeves kind of guy, and he is. Of course, he can’t be faulted if there are little things that he was scared to show off, but he did it before with his family, and it didn’t sting. Instead, it flourished-- _bloomed_ in his chest under the weight of everyone else’s love for him and the person he was within. What’s one more? If he bares his soul again, there’s a chance it will hurt. Not everyone will approve. But there’s a chance in there, a leap he wants to take, that if he cracks his chest in two, it won’t injure him: there is a chance that it will split, and it will be a geode, sparkling in the sunlight.

*

“Uh, Haruhi, may I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” she responded without looking up from her history book, hunched over at her desk. She only had a few more tests to get through, and then it was a touchdown (he might’ve been getting his sports idioms confused).

“Have you thrown out that skirt that you received for your birthday? The one that didn’t fit?”

“No,” Haruhi said, drawing out the word questioningly. “Why?”

“Well, uh-” Just spit it out, Suoh, you can do it, “-do you think if I wore it, it would suit me?”

Haruhi froze, hovering over her textbook, and Tamaki stood perfectly still, like moving would startle her any more than what he had asked of her. Slowly, she twisted in her chair, throwing her arm over the backrest. She looked at him and didn’t question anything - simply looked at him. Tamaki was sure she could sense his uneasiness from his demeanor at the moment, as well as the way he had been acting through the past few weeks - actually, god, _months._

She tilted her head as if to get a better angle to look at him, her eyes raking up his body. Then, she finally smiled: a smile, like they were playing a board game and Tamaki had just beaten a third player, ready to come in second next to Haruhi at the winning table. The smile of someone who had already come out the other side unscathed, and had just been waiting for him to follow her out.

“You certainly have the legs for it,” she told him softly, and he chuckled, embarrassed, his hands clasped in a fold behind his back. “It’s in my closet, if you want to grab it?”

And that was how, five minutes later, he was locked in a staring contest with the skirt, draped over her bed. Haruhi stood next to him with a comforting hand on his shoulder, the warmth and weight reassuring when everything else was an anxious tunnel vision.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Haruhi said, her attempt at being kind.

“No, I-- I want to do this. I _have_ to do this.” It’s not that Tamaki _wanted_ to wear women’s clothing (I mean, he did, but that’s not the _point_ ), it’s just that he wished he could scoot out of his box a little. Carve a nice space out for him to live, somewhere close to where Haruhi enjoyed staying. It was no longer a matter of whether or not he wanted to wear the skirt (which, again, he _did_ ), it was a matter of proving to himself that he could do this and not feel like a giant hammer was about to come down and smash him into a pulp. She nodded, and gestured towards it, turning away to step out of the room. He shot her an alarmed look. “Are you leaving?”

“I just figured you’d want some privacy!” She assured in a panic, and it dawned on him; she was nervous too. “I can stay!”

“Um, I would appreciate it if you stayed, but you can-- Turn around while I change.” God, now he was getting even _more_ embarrassed. She mumbled some assurance he couldn’t make out, sitting carefully on the side of the bed and covering her eyes with her hands.

Tamaki peeled off his pants and grabbed the skirt, airing it out a little. Haruhi’s presence was reassuring. It made him feel a little sick just to think about another person seeing him in a skirt, devoid of satire, but there was no-one else he’d rather have joining him, so, he figured she was his best bet.

Okay. Okay! It was just a skirt, just an article of clothing. He could do this. It was fine. Just _do it,_ come _on._

He slipped it on carefully, trying not to immediately run screaming from the room. It took a minute, the layers a bit confusing for the first several seconds, but he got it on with relative ease. The band was elastic, and a little tight, but he supposed that helped keep it up. 

When he looked in the mirror, it was somehow underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time. “Not bad,” he said, the words slipping out before he could censor himself. It warped the fabric differently than when he was just holding against himself, obviously, but he couldn’t-- It was--

“Can I look?” Haruhi asked, though she peeked without waiting for an answer. When she caught him, she stopped, her mouth open a little. That was… That was _good,_ right? “Wow,” she said, a little breathless. “Tamaki, you look-- You look great.”

“It’s just a skirt,” he said, a little embarrassed, swishing it back and forth awkwardly. The sensation of it skimming against his legs was strange, and somewhat enjoyable. She hummed, tilting her head to get a better look at him.

“It’s not _just_ the skirt,” she told him, gaze open and earnest. “It’s-- The moment you put it on, it was like there was some sort of shift in your posture. You like it, don’t you?”

“I..” His throat felt dry. “Yes.”

Haruhi smiled at him, beaming so wide it crinkled her eyes up in the corners, and he had no idea what he had done to deserve that one, but he grinned back anyways, on instinct. He did like it, as if it was some little larva - just one, for now - digging its way out and marveling at the brightness and warmth it hadn’t known of until it had burst through the skin of the fruit. It wasn’t the skirt, it was the _significance_ of the skirt, the crossing of the coals on bare feet, quick and snappy and he came out on the other side, sweating but unburned. 

She stood, moving over to him, and he let her. He let her draw him into her arms, a hug tight and reassuring. He buried his head in her shoulder, moisture springing up in the corners of his eyes against his will.

Haruhi just held him as he cried, a mix of happy and sad and excited and confused, all bursting out of him, making room for everything else. He loved her.

After a long time, he pulled away sniffling. “Any advice?” He asked, voice throaty and streaked with humor.

“Well,” Haruhi allowed, “I would recommend tucking that shirt into your skirt. Makes it look cleaner. And I know how you hate improper layering.”

Tamaki laughed. “Oh, Haruhi, my rosebud. You know me so well!”

*

“I know this is sensitive for you, but can I ask? When did you start to, you know, deal with all this?” She asked some time later, the two of them sitting outside on his balcony in the dusk, the moonlight beginning to peek through the clouds. Tamaki still had the skirt on, the fabric falling over his legs carefully, tactfully arranged so he would stay modest while still sitting on the chair as he always did: lounging artfully across it, a suitable position for a king.

Tamaki tipped his head back, eyes closed. “It’s embarrassing,” he sing-songed, half-delirious from exhaustion.

“For you or for me?”

He cracked an eye open to look at her, smiling down at him in a way that would’ve seemed innocent if it was coming from anyone else. “For me,” he admitted, voice lofty. “If I remember correctly, it was you-- The whole, boyfriend thing, and you taking charge and--” Okay, shut up now, Tamaki. “Er. You being unabashedly, um, _masculine._ Boyish. It allowed me to stretch my worldview quite a bit, I suppose.” His voice went down to a stage whisper as he confessed, “While I don’t miss your scraggly appearance, I sometimes think about the man I thought you were when you first came in.”

Haruhi chuckled, reaching out and intertwining their hands. “He’s still here,” she said quietly, staring out at the darkened street of Boston. “He’ll always be here.” She paused, before raising an eyebrow at him, looking just a shade too devious. “So, you like it when I’m… masculine. And when I take charge.”

“We don’t have to get into it now!” Tamaki hurried to say.

“Oh, alright,” she replied, delighted. “We have all the time in the world to discuss this.”

He groaned, covering his face with his free hand. But he was happy, he was really, truly happy. Tamaki wouldn’t have it, her, or himself any other way. They had the whole world stretching out in front of them, and he had all the time he needed to indulge himself, to foster the growth within him into something beautiful and unrepentant.

The moon burst out of the dark clouds, its light bright and silvery and beautiful, and Tamaki closed his eyes and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a weird one for me for a lot of reasons. firstly, it was only meant as a self-indulgent thing never meant to see the light of day where my initial pitch was "tamaki thinks its hot when haruhis masculine" but then my trans ass went ".......but how do i. define masculinity?"
> 
> SPEAKING OF, secondly! i dont write gender fics! that shit goes in my diary! i write trans charas all the time but its more of throwaway lines where im like yeah theyre trans but thats not the point the point is theyre turning into a dragon or whatever. so. um. anyways thanks for reading my gender fic. idk why i focused it all on tamaki rather than the canon nonbinary one LOL. though i did touch on haruhi sooo whatevs.
> 
> anyways. haruhi is an any pronoun nonbinary person and tamaki is a he/they nonbinary person. new law.
> 
> tamaki is fun to read but hard to write. im pretty sure i accidentally wrote him as ooc throughout this but, ah, whatever. if i tried to write him more "accurately,” it would throw off the entire tone of this story. he can be serious when he wants to be! canonically, tamaki has issues with pushing his wants away to make other happy or just bc he's straight up repressing it and the more i wrote this the more it made sense so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i wish i wrote the rest of the host club in more as well but what can you do. i guess i could write more but.. nah. this is a tamaki centric tamaharu fic. sorry stans of the other guys!
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading this obnoxiously long authors note, and my first (and probably last) ohshc fic. i rb art for it occasionally on my [tumblr!](http://www.selkiecoded.tumblr.com) AND i have [an ohshc playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4sffSvbj8EltcDCRGOEDN2?si=MxRFnMTSTKCg3Wbb_dO3Wg)


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